


Family, Foremost

by AParticularlyLargeBear



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 08:17:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3562673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AParticularlyLargeBear/pseuds/AParticularlyLargeBear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adain Hawke's family in a series of snapshots. How she grew up, how she knew them, how she lost them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family, Foremost

She’s five years old, and she wrinkles her nose when her father tells her that mama is having a baby.

 

“But she’s my mama,” she complains to him.

 

Malcolm chuckles, ruffles the frizzy dark curls on top of her head. “She’ll still be your mama, silly, you’ll just have a little brother or sister, too.”

 

She pouts. She doesn’t want to share.

 

“Family’s important, Adain,” he tells her gently. “And ours is getting a little bigger.”

 

She makes a face. “Okay,” she says doubtfully. “But I’m not letting them on my swing.”

 

Malcolm smothers another laugh, shaking his head and grinning. “I’m sure they’ll be a bit small for swings for a good while, kiddo.”

 

Adain nods sagely… and then bolts off in the opposite direction, scampering across the grass outside their home. “Can’t catch me, papa!” she bellows over her shoulder.

 

* * *

 

 

She’s six, and she stares with wonder at not one but _two_ babies bundled up in cloth. A little brother _and_ a little sister.

 

Her mama lays on her bed, exhausted, dark circles underneath her eyes, but smiling. Her father holds both babies at once, and Adain can’t keep her eyes off them. They’re both so tiny and so cute, hair and skin dark like hers.

 

“Do you want to say hello?” Malcolm asks with a soft smile.

 

Adain looks at him, looks at her mother, questioning. Leandra nods, and Adain looks back to him and nods eagerly.

 

Malcom leans forward and Adain finds herself looking into two pairs of deep brown eyes.

 

And she smiles.

 

“Hiya. I’m your big sister.”

 

* * *

 

 

She’s nine, and Bethany has been crying all day, and even though she scowls and whines and says she has a headache, Adain goes over to her sister after lunch and sits her in her lap.

 

Adain tells her a story, a silly made up story about a man who lived in a mountain and who had a workshop where he made farm animals, and Bethany quiets down, and then starts asking questions, and Adain keeps making up answers.

 

And from then on Bethany always asks Adain to tell stories to her when it’s time for bed, and even though Adain was only doing it to make her shut up, she feels a strange kind of pride that her sister looks up to her like that.

 

She likes being a big sister, she decides.

 

* * *

 

 

She’s eleven, and Carver is being a brat. He keeps pulling her hair and moving her things when she’s not looking, pestering her with stupid questions when she’s trying to concentrate on her lessons.

 

At last, when she’s out in the garden and he puts dirt down the back of her dress, Adain grabs him by the waist and hurls him into a huge puddle of mud.

 

Carver yells in high pitched indignation and slings a fistful of mud straight back at her, and she’s so surprised that she doesn’t duck and he hits her right in the face.

 

And then that’s a declaration of war and they’re hurling heaping handfuls of wet soil at each other, and at some point Adain trips over him and winds up in the mud too, and then at some point after that it’s somehow gone from a fight to a game, and they’re both giggling and laughing helplessly.

 

Then when they come back home, both covered from head to toe in dirt, and Leandra looks like she might faint dead away, and Malcolm is trying to look disapproving and failing miserably, Adain doesn’t even mind that she’s the one that gets in trouble for it all, because that was just way too much fun.

 

And she has a partner in crime.

 

* * *

 

 

She’s thirteen, and she’s been visiting the chantry almost every day. The Chant fascinates her, and she’s always ready with a new question about it, and the sisters and the revered mother never mind her curiosity.

 

She goes often with Bethany, even though Adain doesn’t really think her sister is old enough to get it. But she likes the murals and the tapestries, and there are a lot of books, so Adain can learn more stories to tell her.

 

It drives Malcolm to distraction that Bethany won’t sleep unless Adain is there to put her to bed, especially when Adain is out and about running errands and it’s time for her nap. Privately though, Adain’s delighted by it. There’s a special little bond that they have, and they still talk about the man in the mountain.

 

* * *

 

 

She’s fifteen, and she’s hit a huge growth spurt, springing up and up like a beanstalk, towering over all the girls in the village and even most of the boys. Carver thinks it’s _amazing_  that his big sister is so tall but her height just makes Adain feel awkward.

 

Her mother tells her that she’s becoming a woman now, but Adain certainly doesn’t feel very womanly, all hard angles and bony figure, narrow hipped and flat chested.

 

She wants to be like Andraste, she’s decided. She wants to be a warrior and champion of faith, she wants to change the world, like she did.

 

Malcolm tells her that maybe she shouldn’t get carried away, but he teaches her anyway, shows her how to use a sword, and sometimes late at night when they think she’s asleep, Adain hears her parents arguing about the training.

 

Adain doesn’t like that, but she does like to learn, and she does like the sword, and she gets stronger and tougher and less gangly.

 

* * *

 

 

She’s seventeen, and her siblings find her crying in frustration, and even though they’re both still young, Bethany and Carver both fuss over her, trying to work out what’s wrong.

 

And Adain can’t really explain, she can’t tell them that their big sister is always fumbling awkwardly when she tries to make conversation. She can’t tell them that she doesn’t really have any friends, because she’s never really sure what to talk about and the only thing she has in common with most of the village is knowing the Chant, and even then, they laugh at her when she says she wants to be like Andraste.

 

And she can’t say any of those things because Bethany and Carver look up to her, and she doesn’t want to disappoint them by saying that their big sister isn’t as fantastic at everything as they think she is.

 

But they do manage to put a smile back on her face the next week when they proudly present a little straw doll with a little sword and a little shield, and Adain has no idea how they made it, but it’s got short dark hair and a symbol of the chantry on its chest and it looks like her.

 

She takes them both in a huge bear hug and from then on, the doll has pride of place on a shelf in her room.

 

* * *

 

 

She’s twenty-one, and her father is sick. He’s been sick before, and wounded, too, but this is worse, this is worrying.

 

Her mother is ashen faced and without energy, Bethany is so crazy with anxiety that she’s barely eaten a thing in weeks. Carver is never even in the house, filled with a frantic restlessness that prompts him to do something, anything but sit around at home.

 

Adain is at Malcolm’s bedside at every available moment, when she isn’t working each and every odd job in Lothering from the chanter’s board, desperately trying to scrape together enough money and resources to get medicine for her father.

 

“Promise me you’ll look after them,” he says to her in a hoarse whisper. His eyes are sunken and his skin holds a grey sheen.

 

“You’ll look after them,” Adain says fiercely. “You’re going to get better.”

 

“Oh Adain… my little warrior…” his eyes close, and for a moment, she thinks he’s dropped off again, but then they reopen. “You’re an amazing sister. I’m proud of you. I always will be.”

 

And then his eyes close for a second time, and Adain clutches his hand tight, and is still sitting there an hour later when her mother enters the room.

 

“Father was tired. He’s just resting,” Adain says, even as she begins to tremble.

 

* * *

 

 

She’s twenty-three, and a shirtless, shivering Carver with caddis covering every inch of his face stumbles into her tent, glaring bloody murder.

 

Adain takes one look and just about chokes with laughter, even as her brother fumes.

 

“You have a strange kind of idea about what a welcoming party is, sister,” Carver growls. “Maker, I think my nipples are growing icicles.”

 

“Sorry Carver,” she says, though she absolutely isn’t sorry and he knows it. “It’s against the rules to let the new recruits know what they’re in for.”

 

“Even when they’re family?”

 

“ _Especially_ when they’re family.”

 

And he glowers at her again, but he still nods thanks when she hands him a spare top, and she doesn’t make further comment as she hands him a damp cloth to wipe off his face with.

 

“I’ve missed you, brother,” she tells him at length, and for once he manages a smile.

 

“I missed you too.”

 

* * *

 

 

She’s twenty-four, and she’s tired and bloody and beaten but she’s somehow alive when an entire army has fallen to darkspawn, and she and Carver have been on the run since Ostagar.

 

They evacuate Lothering barely ahead of the hoard, and things grow more and more desperate, only the slightest reprieve gained by the company of a fellow soldier and her templar husband. Bethany’s using her magic to keep them safe and that breaks Adain’s heart a little, because she knows how much that power scares her, knows how conflicted she is about it.

 

And then there’s a bellowing roar, and one of the huge darkspawn that overran their lines at Ostagar is charging them, a horned beast with bulging muscles and murder in its mind. And Adain is holding her ground, greatsword in hand, waiting for the moment to strike.

 

And suddenly Carver is there at its flank, striking from the side, trying to take it off guard. But it sees him coming and it swerves at the last moment, striking him backhanded, sending him stunned and reeling. Adain lets out a shout that might have been a warning and might have been a prayer, and then her brother is smashed to the ground.

 

Her mother screams his name, and the next few moments are a blur of violence as they strike the creature down as a coordinated group.

 

And Adain’s collapsing on her knees next to Carver, seeing him so still and motionless, his blood pooling around him, and she throws back her head and lets out a roar of wordless agony.

 

* * *

 

 

She’s still twenty-four, and they’ve managed to make it across the water to Kirkwall.

 

For the first time she meets her uncle Gamlen, and Adain takes a dislike to him, but tries to keep it in her mind that he’s family, and while circumstances aren’t ideal, he’s taken them in, which is worth something.

 

She tries not to think about their debt, or the fact that she’s having to work as a blade for hire just to keep them afloat. She’s doing it for her mother and sister, especially her sister, who has to watch for the templars at every turn.

 

And she keeps her head up and thinks that maybe one day it’ll all get better.

 

* * *

 

 

She’s twenty-five, and they’ve raised money to go on an expedition into the deep roads, for fame and fortune.

 

Adain doesn’t quite know what she thinks of Varric, the clever, witty dwarf – he’s smart, a lot smarter than her, and she’s always had difficulty with people who are cleverer than her. Still, he pokes playful fun at her all the time, and while she bristles at first, in time she realises that she’s growing fond of him. His jibes are never cruel, never overstep the mark.

 

Her hopes are high as they depart, as she insists to her mother than she wants Bethany with her on the expedition, that her sister worked just as hard as she did to raise the funds, and she deserves to come too. Besides, they need a mage, and she’s already clashed heads with the apostate Anders over her devout Andrastian beliefs, and Adain really isn’t sure of Merril, the Dalish elf.

 

And when it all goes to hell, when Varric’s own brother stabs them in the back, Adain keeps on hoping and hoping, she keeps praying, straining her faith to breaking point, because they’re hurt and tired and Bethany is struggling.

 

And when Adain sees her sister’s dark eyes going pale, sees webs of blackness begin to creep their way across Bethany’s face, she holds out that hope.

 

She holds it as she scoops Bethany’s frail body up in her arms and runs, and _runs_ through the deep roads, because if she pushes herself hard enough, then surely there will be someone who can help, surely they can find a way out in time. She ignores Varric and Aveline shouting warnings behind her, and she runs.

 

They don’t find her for another three hours, stumbling across her with her back against a pillar of carved stone, Bethany’s head in her lap, murmuring a story about a man who lived in a mountain.

 

* * *

 

 

She’s twenty-five and she’s outlived both of her younger siblings, and she can’t even bring herself to look her mother in the eye when the party returns to Kirkwall.

 

She’s in the chantry every day, praying with all her strength, wishing that it could have been her instead of them, wishing that she could have done better, thought things through. She should have left Bethany at home; she should have taken someone else, or seen Bartrand’s betrayal coming.

 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” the voice is quiet, but she recognises the accent immediately.

 

“I don’t want your sympathy, Vael,” Adain’s reply is thick with grief, but she can’t even bring herself to be hostile to a man she does not precisely get along with.

 

“Then I’ll be quiet. I just want you to know that you needn’t suffer this alone.”

 

And after that, he stops by each time Adain is there, and while his presence is irritating at first, he never disturbs her without her speaking first, and over time, she starts to open up to him, and he’s always willing to listen.

 

And somewhere along the way, Adain realises she’s made a friend.

 

* * *

 

 

She’s twenty-six, and a blood mage has butchered her mother. The man is little more than a smear on the floor, but that’s scant comfort to the fact that Leandra is lying on the ground, in Adain’s arms, and she’s dying.

 

“Please mother,” she whispers, her voice cracked. “Don’t leave me alone like this.”

 

“It’s… all right… my darling. I’ll be with… our family again.”

 

“ _I’m_ your family!”

 

“I love you… so much…”

 

Leandra’s head slumps back and Adain screams until her throat is numb.

 

* * *

 

 

She’s twenty-eight, and she comes to the sudden, startling revelation that she’s in love.

 

Adain isn’t quite sure where it’s come from, but her and Sebastian still spend much of their time together in the chantry, and through him she has become close to the grand cleric Elthina.

 

She likes him because he listens to her talk, even when she starts to ramble, and he doesn’t make fun of her, even good naturedly like Varric and Isabela. They don’t argue about faith and mages like Anders or Merril, and he doesn’t have the raw stubborn aggression of Fenris. They have a lot in common, and they exchange all kinds of stories.

 

She loves him, she realises, because he treats her as her, nothing more and nothing less. Not the Champion or a hero, but a person with dreams and fears and flaws. He’ll speak his mind to her, not being afraid to disagree, but he’ll also remember that she gets flustered and loses track of what she’s saying sometimes, and that even if she shouts, it’s because she cares, not because she’s trying to drown him out.

 

And she tells him, Sebastian kisses her hand and beams a smile.

 

“You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you say that.”

 

And her heart soars.

 

* * *

 

 

She’s thirty, and Kirkwall is going to hell again, and this time she’s not sure if she can fix the mess that the city is getting itself into. Adain isn’t unsympathetic to mages but so many of them are practicing blood magic that everything’s rapidly spiralling out of control.

 

She prays nightly in the chantry, hoping that things will improve without spiralling into violence, she gives Elthina her assurances that she’ll do everything she can to prevent the templars and mages from killing each other.

 

But as tensions begin to boil, as more and more fires begin to break out that she frantically has to dash to try and extinguish, she approaches Sebastian late at night.

 

“I want to say this while I have a chance.”

 

“Anything you’d like, love,” he replies with a soft smile.

 

“I don’t know what’s to come over the next few weeks, but there’s no person I’d rather be going through it with. And, well, uhm…” this sounded better in her head, and she’s starting to founder.

 

“Adain?”

 

“I’d… I’d like to make our commitment official.”

 

“I’m… not sure what you’re saying.”

 

“Marry me, you bloody idiot!” she bursts out, then immediately covers her mouth. Maker, that’s not how she meant to say that.

 

Sebastian’s laughter rings out across the chantry, and he takes her hands in his.

 

“Not the most romantic proposal I’ve ever heard… but of course. Of course I will. I’d like nothing more.”

 

He gently kisses her on the cheek.

 

* * *

 

 

She’s thirty-two, and Starkhaven might be a little less filled with blood mages than Kirkwall, but things certainly aren’t the most stable – though the same could be said for much of Thedas.

 

Her husband is constantly swept off his feet, and while Adain is doing everything she can to support him, she’s engaged in her own ongoing investigation, trying to work out what transpired in Kirkwall with the templars. Something shady went on there, she just can’t quite figure out what.

 

They spend time together when they can, even if it’s more of the ‘read reports in the same room’ than ‘romantic evening in’ variety of socialising.

 

And there’s a barrier between them. Not a physical one. Faith.

 

She’s as devout as he is, but Sebastian has taken vows that she hasn’t, and though she understands them, respects them even, she wants something more.

 

It’s not the physical relationship – they’re perfectly intimate without having sex, but something else. She wants to be with Sebastian, yes, but she wants a _family_ with him, too.

 

They discuss it long into the night. He’s firm, reminding her of his vows. She reminds him of his station.

 

“Princes, generally speaking, need heirs.”

 

They argue about it, they have full shouting matches, which they reconcile from each time with apologies and embraces.

 

And then one evening, he lays his hands on her shoulders.

 

“We can try.”

 

And she’s never loved him more than at that moment.

 

* * *

 

 

She’s thirty-two, and she’s having a baby.


End file.
